Eve
by Suimuran
Summary: Because with a heart like Mello's, how can you keep such a promise? Once you get a fire going in that chest of his, he's not stopping until the whole universe is dead. I understand that. I understand that very well, and I've buried his side of the promise for him years ago.


He says they're making a big fuss out of their own descent.

I kinda gotta say, I like how that sounds.

Suffocating in cold air and urban fog, he leans against the wall in quiet distress and shoots a hundred grams of anger my way for predictably no good reason. It pierces like a laser from his eyes and burns its mark into the skin on my face, stabbing into the pores and filling my head with the color blue. It's always like this when the fireworks start attacking the sky, but somehow I still haven't gotten used to it. Every fucking year, and I still stand defenseless against that glare. Anyway, no matter how many times you've braved the winter before, you'll always be shocked by the sudden gusts of wind hiding in its pockets.

He continues talking through stiff lips, all chapped and pining secretly for chocolates. (He doesn't know this, but I know he made a resolution to cut back. Not that he can, mind you). He says it's nothing but the next day, it's just the same thing, all the same kisses planted on different soul-sucking mouths, all the same knives sheathed into different backs. His light hair barely moves as he shakes his head in disgust. Shudders and then spits on the floor with a badly-hidden fervor, as if he's spitting on the entire city. As if he could, as if he's high and mighty.

He isn't.

No, he isn't, and neither am I.

I defend the soul-sucking, aging, celebrating sinners by saying it's fine to praise the new year. It's fine to celebrate the fact that we've made it past another year, we've had another chance to laugh at our own bullshit. We've raised the bar and lowered our morals, loved one another at the expense of hating the rest. All that jazz. I say all of that, and I do so very quickly, because I know he'll be sending another hundred grams of anger in a bit. He never runs out of that stuff.

Just to be safe, I tell him that-if he's lucky enough-this year might even be the last he'd have to deal with this world.

Now that..._that_ brings a smile to his face.

But actually, actually guess what? Actually, I doubt he's as happy to hear that as he lets on. Actually-and trust me, I almost am sure-he's only happy because he has no choice. He has about as much choice as he had when he entered the orphanage, about as much as any of us had when we entered the orphanage. And most of all...diving into a pool of names and faces and gods headfirst like he did? You can't just do that without knowing how it would end, right?

Did you know that our only goal was to survive in this shrinking world? That's what we'd agreed on as children, back when we knew a lot and before we knew too much. Aim low, shoot high. Live life just like that, and if ever you achieve something more than that, shit yourself and celebrate. It was a very satisfying way of life, in my case, until now. For him, it's entirely different. For him, that pact ended before it could start. Because with a heart like Mello's, how can you keep such a promise? Once you get a fire going in that chest of his, he's not stopping until the whole universe is dead. I understand that. I understand that very well, and I've buried his side of the promise for him years ago.

The past few weeks, watching him furiously risk his own life in order to give it meaning, I've come to the sickening realization that he is also willing to risk me. And with that comes the realization that, being the person that I am, I would probably nod my head and put my life on the line in three seconds. Now, I have no idea how big the possibility of that happening is, but the existence of a possibility at all puts me in a really uncomfortable spot. On the one hand, I'd be shooting higher than I'd ever shot in my entire life. On the other hand...nobody else seems to have a friendship like this. That's just a tad bit unfair, don't you think?

All these people, celebrating this new year, none of them know who we are. And none of them know what we're doing, doing for ourselves, and for them, and for a dead legend we were raised to take after. Not a one. Let them do their thing, right? It's not their fault. It's not their fault, Mello. This is why you're angry, isn't it?

He holds back his glare after mulling over what I said before. I think he's thinking to let me have my moment of victory, you know? I'm pretty sure that's it, and so he lets me sway along with the wind and hum my own melody to the beat of the fireworks raging all the way in the core of the city of sin. Lets me snap pictures of the growing smoke forming above it all like smart little foreshadowing. Lets me do all that. And while I'm doing all the shit I'm doing, he knocks his head back to make a little sound against the wall and closes his eyes. I wish to know what he's thinking now, but at the same time that would be a little dangerous. The things in his mind have a way of destroying people. Instead I stay where I am, pretending not to feel his existence and his trouble clawing at my back. I light up a cigarette in the name of the sky, and I close my eyes against it.

We're so goddamn human, he says after a while, and spits on the floor one more time before divorcing the wall.

We're so goddamn human, he repeats. Wraps me up in his arms, pries me from the first reality of the year, and takes me into the void.

* * *

**SUIMURAN: **Hello guys. I doubt any one of you remember who I am, but my pen name used to be Poisoned Shinigami, and at one point I had two DN fanfictions that were doing pretty well. Daddy Long Legs and Mello Degrees Celsius, does anyone remember those? (Probably not. There are many new readers here, I'm sure, and a lot of the old ones probably moved on). Unfortunately due to some early life crisis or other I took them all down and kept none of the documents. Hindsight kicked me right in the nuts a few years after that. I'm thinking about rewriting them, if anyone's still interested.

Aforementioned hindsight also brought about a thing called nostalgia, and for the last week I'd been wallowing in angst about my original favorite DN duo, Mello and Matt. So I decided I'd try my hand at writing something about them again, and this was the result. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, well y'all know what fanfiction writers appreciate from their readers.

Dream well, kids.


End file.
